The Bench of Lost Memories
The chill of autumn enveloped the city as leaves crunched underfoot, unnoticed by those walking, oblivious to the broken poetry of the street corners. You had sat on a park bench, seeking a moment’s respite, a pause in the monotony of days that rolled on like an endless train. That’s when the girl appeared. Her large, dark eyes met yours for just a second—enough for you to feel the weight of her presence. She smelled of abandonment, of sadness woven into the folds of her tattered clothing. A wave of discomfort washed over you, like a shiver running down your spine, and you stood almost immediately, stepping away to escape the echo of her misery. Yet, something compelled you to glance back, to watch her from the corner of your eye. Something about the hollow curve of her cheeks, the tremor in her hands, the way she hugged her knees with resignation, felt familiar. And then, the realization hit you like a slap of icy air: that girl was you. She wasn’t just ...